


troubled love and high speed noise

by punk_rock_yuppie



Category: Buzzfeed: Worth It (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Getting Together, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Podfic Welcome, Secret Agent/Spy AU, Sexual Tension, minor depictions of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-09 17:51:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15272973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: Steven Lim and Andrew Ilnyckyj, secret agents extraordinaire: they jump off buildings, they kick ass, they're in love—there's just one catch.





	troubled love and high speed noise

**Author's Note:**

> one question: how did i end up here? i told myself i was leaving RPF in the golden days, back when i was 12 and didn't know any better. then i binged all 4 seasons of worth it and got sucked into a wormhole, one [hannah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathect/pseuds/cathect) thoroughly encouraged. that said, i had so much fun writing this i can't even be mad lmao 
> 
> so have this, the secret agent/spy AU no one asked for but i hope you all enjoy. i was rocking out to [pray for the wicked](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLIMbvw5CQk1-9WjfsXfw-etJHNc9sE59q) and ['the overpass'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j5vVZyG7oG8&list=PLIMbvw5CQk1-9WjfsXfw-etJHNc9sE59q&index=9&t=0s) has such a good seventies Bond-movie vibe, i felt inspired. plus with how andrew talks about wanting to be a Bond villain? too good to not write. highly recommend you listen to it while reading this. 
> 
> anyway, huge thanks to hannah for beta'ing even tho she's not into worth it, and i hope you all enjoy!

_**night’s young, searching for a feeling; big fun, dancing with the demons** _

“We’ve _got_ to stop meeting like this,” Ilnyckyj murmurs, one arm hooked around Steven’s waist to keep him from toppling over the edge of the building. His other arm is outstretched with his hand gripping the railing.

Steven manages a smirk. “Can’t say I mind too much.” He lets his hands rest against the other agent’s chest. He knots his hands in the fabric of Ilnyckyj’s button-down to keep his balance. “You’d never let me fall.”

Ilnyckyj’s next grin is more chagrined. He moves slowly and carefully, always mindful of Steven’s feet and the lip of the building’s edge. He curls and brackets Steven against the railing, his back to the city beyond them. “You sound awfully sure,” Ilnyckyj taunts as he takes one of Steven’s hands and pushes it back to wrap around the railing.

“I am,” Steven replies, grateful that his comm had slipped from his ear sometime during the chase. Adam would be giving him an earful right now if he could hear this. Steven lets his other hand linger for a moment before dropping from Ilnyckyj’s shirt. Steven levers himself over the iron railing and settles his feet back on the rooftop.

Ilnyckyj doesn’t. The arm he had around Steven’s waist is now outstretched; his grin is back, framed by golden-brown scruff. “Till next time, Lim.”

It’s then that a faint whirring sound catches Steven’s attention, and he looks up just in time to see a small plane race by—just in time to see Ilnyckyj take a leap off the railing and wrap his hand around the rope dangling from the open door.

Had Steven been thinking clearly, he would’ve shot into the plane. That’s what his mission calls for: take out Ilnyckyj’s boss and associates by any means necessary, including but not limited to making sure Ilnyckyj _doesn’t_ escape.

Instead, he watches as the other agent secures his footing on the thick rope, polished oxfords balanced on a knot at the base. Ilnyckyj has the gall to wave, even wink, and Steven flips him the bird in response.

Ilnyckyj’s laughter carries in the night air.

 

 

_**you’re a sweet talker, but darlin’, whatcha gonna say now?** _

“You clean up nice,” Ilnyckyj says quietly, right against Steven’s ear. They’re dancing in a slow and lazy waltz, looping and weaving between other dancers on the floor.

“Could say the same for you,” Steven retorts. He drags his hands over the crisp lapel of Ilnyckyj’s deep blue suit. He lets his fingers inch a little higher, just enough to skirt the other man’s neck, tease the skin.

“Your suit isn’t exactly subtle.” Ilnyckyj shows no sign of being affected by Steven’s touch, but he’s always been a hard man to read. He looks Steven up and down with a quirk of his lips. “Lavender, really?”

Steven scoffs. “It’s my color.” Even so, his cheeks burn slightly.

Ilnyckyj laughs under his breath. “It is,” he agrees. They fall silent under the crescendo of the in-house band and amber lights. All the while, Ilnyckyj grins and never takes his eyes off Steven—and Steven does the same.

“This has been nice,” Ilnyckyj murmurs a little while later. They’re slowing to a stop, but his hand on Steven’s waist still burns like a brand. “But it’s time for me to go.”

Steven knows he’s been tricked, distracted, would know it even if Ilnyckyj wasn’t grinning like the cat that got the cream. Steven shakes off the disappointment in himself and secures his grip in the lapels of the other man’s suit. “So soon?” He breathes, his lips a hair’s breadth away from Ilnyckyj’s.

Finally, _finally_ , Ilnyckyj falters. He misses a step and his oxford screeches across the well-polished floor. Ilnyckyj breathes deep, lets out the softest groan under his breath as his eyes flick down to Steven’s lips, before taking a step back.

“See you soon, Lim.”

Steven’s at least proud to have put a tremor in Ilnyckyj’s voice.

 

 

_**my tell-tale heart’s a hammer in my chest** _

“I always hoped we’d end up here,” Ilnyckyj says.

Steven, despite the blush staining his cheeks, raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “You’d always hoped we end up trapped in your boss’ lair, about to die?” As if queued, the ceiling above them opens up and various sharp instruments start to descend. All of them are whirring, sharp and sparking where metal collides with metal.

“We’re not going to _die_.” Ilnyckyj says it with such confidence, Steven is almost inclined to believe him.

He opens his mouth to retort to the other agent’s bravado, but a crackling voice in his ear cuts him off.

 _“Helicopter is ten minutes out,”_ Adam says through Steven’s earpiece. _“Please don’t get caught with your pants down.”_

Steven’s blush darkens tenfold and Ilnyckyj lets out a bark of laughter. “I’m flattered,” Ilnyckyj whispers. He’s still got Steven pressed up against a grimy cell wall, and their faces are almost too close. Ilnyckyj’s words hit Steven’s cheek, soft and wet and hot.

“You gonna get me to the rooftop in time?” Steven snarks.

Ilnyckyj hums thoughtfully. “You gonna give me a ride?”

Adam answers before Steven can: _“No.”_

Ilnyckyj only laughs again. “Fair enough.” He turns his head slightly and his lips nearly brush Steven’s; he smirks at Steven’s sharp inhale, but before either of them can act on it, a cell wall explodes and the moment evaporates. “See? I told you we wouldn’t die.”

Ilnyckyj steps back and moves toward the gaping hole in the wall; he stops long enough to turn back and hold out a hand to Steven. “Gotta get you to the rooftop, don’t I?”

Steven has so many questions: how did the wall explode? Isn’t Ilnyckyj risking more by saving Steven? If the wall hadn’t blown when it did, would Ilnyckyj have closed the gap between them?

He doesn’t ask any of those. He reaches out and takes Ilnyckyj’s hand. They clamber through the cell wall and end up in a damp, empty corridor.

“Follow me,” Ilnyckyj says. Steven obeys even as the corridors start to twist and turn too much for Steven to keep track of where they’re going and where they’ve been. “Not much further,” Ilnyckyj insists as they start on an enormous flight of stairs.

They’re silent as they run, save for their shoes slapping the uneven concrete beneath them and their harsh breathing. Adam is giving Steven updates in his ear— _helicopter five minutes out, shut down the security cameras so you’re clear to go, some goons have started going up the staircase_ —and Steven breathlessly relays as many as he can to the other agent.

Eventually, they hit the top of the stairs at the whirring of the helicopter is loud even though the large, steel door.

“You good to take it from here?”

Steven halts. “Where are you going?” He asks as Ilnyckyj starts to inch toward an open window opposite from the steel door. “You can’t leap out the fucking window.”

Ilnyckyj snorts. “You know better than to underestimate me.” Despite his words, he steps closer. “But just in case the fall kills me, how about you tell me your name?”

Steven blinks owlishly and the blood rushing in his ears overtakes the helicopter outside and the pounding footsteps coming up the stairs. “Steven.”

 _“You’re an idiot,”_ Adam says, fondly annoyed. _“Hurry up”_

“Andrew,” Ilnyckyj responds. He takes another step closer and curls his fingers around Steven’s hip. He yanks Steven in suddenly, and the kiss is so light, so brief, Steven almost doubts it even happened.

Until, at least, Andrew kisses him again, harder and sweeter, licking at the seam of his lips before pulling back.

The goons are getting closer if the noise coming up the stairwell is anything to go by; Adam’s calm voice is getting slightly more frantic and loud in Steven’s earpiece.

Andrew smirks. “Wish me luck, Steven.” With that, he takes three large steps backwards—and Steven feels cold and bereft without the other man so close—and leaps out the open window. Steven stares at the open window and listens for something: a shout, a splat, _anything_.

_“Steven!”_

Adam’s voice snaps Steven out of his thoughts and he finally wrenches open the steel door. The wind on the rooftop, blown around by the helicopter blades, is almost too strong. Still dazed and lips tingling from the kiss, Steven makes it to the helicopter just as it starts to lift off, and just as the shouting of the goons gets too close for comfort.

Steven gasps for air once he’s inside the helicopter. Once they’re a safe distance from the warehouse, he leans his head against the bulletproof window covered in spiderweb cracks from bullets. He looks down at the city below, barren and unmoving in the early morning. He sighs, and his breath steams up the glass.

“You okay back there?”

Steven looks up to see Adam peering at him from the pilot’s seat. “Yeah.”

Adam stares.

“I’m fine,” Steven insists.

Adam clearly doesn’t believe him, Steven knows by the twist of his lips, but doesn’t say anything else.

 

 

_**mama said, “fulfill the prophecy, be something great, go make a legacy”** _

“You’re telling me,” Andrew says with mirth in his voice, tracing idle shapes on Steven’s chest, “that your mother wanted you to become a secret agent.”

Steven rolls his eyes. “Not exactly, but, I mean. Kind of.” He looks up at Andrew, illuminated by the faint hotel lamp and moonlight streaming in through the open window. “She told me to do something with my life. Originally I was gonna be a chemical engineer.”

Andrew hums. “Might’ve suited you better. You’re one of the worst secret agents I’ve ever met.” It’s said teasingly, but it still stings a little. Steven doesn’t tell him so. “Sleeping with the enemy, breaking rule numero uno, right there.”

Despite the ache in his chest, Steven laughs. He squirms as Andrew’s hands move lower, more eagerly. “What about you?”

Andrew’s grin when he looks up from Steven’s body is downright sinful. Predatory, and wide, and Steven shivers. “Me?” Andrew asks.

He leans closer and practically covers Steven’s body with his own; they slot together like puzzle pieces and Steven sighs in pleasure as the heat starts to build.

“I’m the enemy. The bad guy,” Andrew whispers against Steven’s skin. “I’m _supposed_ to do the wrong thing.” There’s an edge in his voice, and odd note that Steven tries to interpret. Before he can, Andrew’s teeth sink into the juncture where neck meets shoulder, and all thought goes out the window.

 

 

_**dust in the fire when i can’t sleep a wink** _

Steven gropes for his phone. It’s trilling lowly and vibrating against the wood, and if it goes on too long it’ll surely wake Adam up—and a cranky Adam is no one’s friend. Blearily, Steven hastens to answer the call and brings the phone to his ear without checking the screen. “Hello?”

_“Hey, Lim.”_

Steven’s brow furrows. “Andrew?” He whispers. He looks over at the other bed where Adam is still asleep. He stands and grabs his jacket off the back of a chair; he checks the inner pocket for the key card, then slips out of the hotel room into the empty hallway. “Andrew, what’s going on?”

On the other end, Andrew laughs. _“Nothing. Just can’t sleep.”_

“Where are you?”

Andrew tsks. _“You know I can’t tell you that.”_

Steven pouts, and Andrew laughs as though he knows. It’s rare that they’re in the same timezone and not near one another. Something uncomfortable roils in Steven’s gut. “Why can’t you sleep?”

_“Not sure it’s safe. Got a fire going, gotta stay up to keep it stoked.”_

Steven frowns. “Are you in the woods?”

 _“Can’t say,”_ Andrew says, and exhaustion weighs down every word. _“Just wanted to hear your voice, Steven.”_

Despite it all—the deceit, the lies, the struggles—Steven’s heart does somersaults in his chest. “I miss you,” he says softly.

 _“Miss you too.”_ Andrew sighs. _“Sorry if I woke you.”_

“No, no,” Steven braces his back against the wall outside his room and sinks to the ground slowly. He picks at a loose thread on his sweatpants, then fiddles with the button of his royal blue blazer he’d thrown on haphazardly. “Tell me about your day.”

Andrew pauses, clearly sifting through what information he can or can’t share with Steven. Eventually, he says, _“Alright.”_

 

Adam finds Steven asleep in the hallway the next morning, phone sapped of charge and hanging loosely in his grip.

 

 

_**and if you never know who you can trust then trust me, you’ll be lonely** _

“This isn’t smart,” Adam says.

Steven takes a long sip of coffee in lieu of answering.

“This isn’t going to end well,” Adam continues, tone more insistent. His own coffee sits off to the side, abandoned and growing cold. “You know that.”

Steven’s gaze slides away from his coworker’s earnest expression to survey the crowd around them instead. They’re not on a mission, currently. He and Adam are friends outside the agency, and when the other man had asked him to get coffee on a rare day off, Steven had been happy to agree.

Now he’s rethinking his answer.

“Ilnyckyj is—” Adam stops. He looks down at his hands, palm-up and pleading on the table between them, and sighs. “You can’t trust him.”

“I know that,” Steven snaps. “It’s just—?”

“It’s not _just_ anything,” Adam says. His voice is quiet and soft, but sharp and Steven draws in a shaky breath. “It’s never _just_ anything with you, Steven.” It doesn’t sound like an insult; he sounds impossibly fond, and sweet, and worried. He knows Steven far too well.

“I know what I’m doing,” Steven lies. The more Adam stares, the less sure he is.

Adam shakes his head. His expression shifts from fond and worried, to frustrated and scared. “I don’t know if I can help you pick up the pieces.”

Anger spikes in Steven’s chest. He opens his mouth to retort, to say there won’t _be_ any pieces to pick up, but the words lodge in his throat and he can’t seem to get them out. Adam waits expectantly but doesn’t look pleased by Steven’s lack of a response.

“Sorry,” Adam says as he stands. “I’ll stay out of it.” His words are hollow, and Steven’s chest feels cavernous, empty, gutted.

“Thanks,” he says, words bitter and ashy in his mouth.

 

 

_**it’s the false side of hope, where believers concede** _

Andrew’s hands are hot and eager for Steven’s skin; they’re mapping him out, and he feels laid bare, exposed, revealed. Andrew’s grin against his lips burns and Steven sighs into the sting. His own hands, no less eager, are knotting in Andrew’s hair, tugging him closer and wringing pained gasps from him.

“You good?” Andrew asks after a while, wiping his slick fingers on the bed.

Steven keens and spreads his legs, his arms, welcoming Andrew into him. Even as Andrew sinks inside him, Steven’s mind drifts back to the conversation he had with Adam. Even as Steven loops his arms across Andrew’s shoulders to pull him closer, he can’t stop replaying Adam’s words in his head.

“You’re thinking too much,” Andrew says with a grin. He nips at Steven’s jaw, then soothes the hurt with his tongue. “Am I that much of a bore?”

Steven laughs weakly. “No, never,” and it’s true. Andrew’s the furthest thing from boring. Even being on the other side, he lives the same sort of life, takes the same sort of risks. It’s bizarrely easy to be with Andrew: the man makes Steven laugh, makes him _happy_. It’s a painful juxtaposition to know that they’re on opposing sides; it hurts to know that Adam is right, and this can’t end well.

Andrew pauses in his thrusting and peers down at Steven. “You sure?” He asks, the edge of humor fading from his voice.

“Yes,” Steven insists. He lurches up to kiss Andrew; he misses his mouth and lands on a stubbled cheek instead. “Yes,” he moans as Andrew’s thrusts pick up the pace. His heart pounds and his head spins and it all feels right and wrong in the same breath.

 

 

_**and i can’t change into a person i don’t wanna be** _

“What did you think would happen?”

Steven looks up; it’s a struggle to see, given that one of his eyes is nearly swollen shut. His whole face is throbbing, and his skin is tacky with blood—his own and others’. He can’t even find an answer, snarky or otherwise, to give Andrew. His lover is dressed in a crisp suit; even his cufflinks gleam in the low light of the dank basement.

“I told you to stay away from that gala,” Andrew hisses. He drops to a crouch in front of Steven and withdraws a handkerchief from his suit jacket’s inner pocket. Carefully, too gently, Andrew wipes away what blood and grit he can.

“Just because we’re fucking doesn’t mean I can stop doing my job.” Steven hisses in pain and leans back from Andrew’s touch. “Don’t you have a diplomat to go kidnap?”

Andrew sighs but doesn’t relent in trying to clean up Steven’s face. “I sent Adam your coordinates.”

Steven swallows around the lump in his throat. It tastes metallic, sickly. “One second you’re helping beat the shit out of me, the next you’re calling the cavalry?” He leans heavily against the wall behind him and groans. Behind his eyelids, flashes of his beating come back to him. Andrew had hung back as much as possible, but he’d landed a solid couple hits and those hurt the worst.

“I can’t stop doing my job, either,” Andrew bites out. He lets the handkerchief fall into Steven’s lap. “Just because we’re _fucking_.”

Even though it’s his own words thrown back at him, Steven flinches.

“I told you,” Andrew says in a softer voice. “I’m the bad guy.”

Steven scoffs. “You don’t have to be.”

Andrew grimaces. He reaches out slowly and cups Steven’s mostly uninjured cheek. He leans in and brushes a delicate kiss over Steven’s split lips. He doesn’t say sorry, but the kiss feels like an apology, and a goodbye. Andrew pulls back and studies Steven for a long, silent moment.

When Steven doesn’t say anything, Andrew sighs. “Till next time, Lim,” he says. He stands and brushes dirt off the hem of his slacks. He pauses at the cell door again, and just stares. Steven doesn’t look away, but he doesn’t let the words piling up in his mouth spill forth.

He waits until the cell door falls shut behind Andrew to cry.

 

 

_**‘cuz only gold is hot enough** _

He gets the cufflinks in the mail a month into his recovery. The beating he took on his last mission put him out of commission for the foreseeable future. It only took him two weeks to stop hoping Andrew would call.

It’s why the little lavender box, tied with a shimmery, navy ribbon comes as such a surprise. It’s waiting outside the door to his apartment, one day after he’s returning home from physical therapy. Cautiously, leaning on a crutch to help, he bends down and grabs the box gently. He’s not so much worried it’ll explode—a concern drilled into them at the agency, a rule Steven’s never been great at following—as he is about breaking it.

He holds the box in the palm of his hand and just stares at it. There’s no tag, no indication of who sent it or where it came from. It takes some clever maneuvering to get his apartment door open without dropping the box, his takeout, or his crutch, but he manages somehow.

He kicks the door shut behind him with his uninjured foot, sets his takeout on the table beside the door, and immediately starts pulling at the ribbon on the box. His heart is pounding and sweat breaks out across his brow, and not just from the trek up to his apartment. He swallows nervously and lets the ribbon flutter to the floor.

The lid of the box pops off with a soft sound, one that seems to echo in the silence of Steven’s apartment. In the box, atop a padding of tissue paper, sits a pair of golden cufflinks.

Steven nearly lets the box fall, almost wants to, but tightens his grip just enough. He stares down the cufflinks—he recognizes them, and his heart aches. He thinks he might burst. His lips and left eye throb with phantom pain, and he thinks back to the way these cufflinks looked in the low light of the basement.

Steven retrieves the lid and slips it back on. He doesn’t bother with the ribbon. He leaves his crutch by the door and hobbles the short distance to his bedroom. He drags open his bedside table and sets the box inside, then shuts it with more force than is probably necessary.

Andrew’s number is still in his phone; that doesn’t mean Steven needs to call him.

 

 

_**see the thing is, i’m so sorry to say—(you need me, don’t you?)—someone still loves you** _

Adam shows up at his apartment the day after Steven turns in his resignation.

He’s mostly healed, but his bones are stiff and his reflexes slower—Jen, and Keith, and Shane all tried telling him it would take time, but Steven doesn’t think he can stomach the waiting. He laughs it all off, says he’s doing a favor for the agency by stepping down. He doesn’t mention how Andrew’s voice echoes in his head.

“You can’t talk me out of it,” Steven says as he opens the door.

“I’m not here to try.” Adam steps inside without waiting for the invitation; Steven just sighs and shuts the door behind him. Adam’s hands are deep in his pockets and he immediately starts pacing through Steven’s apartment.

“Want some coffee?” Steven asks as he slips into his kitchen.

“No.”

Steven shrugs to himself and puts a pot on anyway. Adam always declines but usually ends up wanting a cup despite his protests.

“He sent me something.”

Steven startles at Adam’s sudden voice, close and quiet. He turns to see Adam standing at the threshold of his kitchen only a few feet away. “What?” He asks. He manages to keep the tremor out of his tone even as he thinks back to the little lavender box burning a hole in his bedside table.

“Ilnyckyj.” Adam finally withdraws his hands from his pockets and slips on inside his jacket instead. He pulls out a folder that’s crumpled at the edges and stamped, bright red and bold, **_confidential_**. “He sent this to me.”

Steven blinks. Adam holds out the envelope, but Steven doesn’t take it.

“It’s for you,” Adam says. Steven almost laughs; _of course it’s for me_ , he thinks, a little hysterically. “Instructions to find the folder came through on an untraceable channel.” Adam pauses for effect. “He went through a lot to keep this quiet, but went through even more to made sure it got to me.”

Steven shakes his head. “I don’t want to see it.”

Adam’s look softens. “Steven.”

“You told me it was a bad idea, and you were right. So why would you bring me this?”

Adam looks down at the envelope. His thumb brushes over the confidential stamp. “Because of what it says.”

Steven’s vision starts to swim, and he hiccups around a sob.

“I’ll stay here, if you want.”

Steven still can’t make himself take the folder.

“I’ll open it,” Adam offers, even going so far as to grin.

Steven eventually shakes his head. “It’s okay,” he rasps. “I’ll be okay.”

Adam looks unsure, but he lets Steven take the folder. “Call me if you need anything, okay?” He takes a step closer. “Not just with this, but with anything. I’m here for you, okay?”

“I think that’s the most you’ve said to me at once,” Steven says.

Adam pauses, then rolls his eyes. “You’ve got my number.”

Steven nods. He holds the folder close to his chest to hide his shaking hands. “Thank you.”

Adam stares at him, and it feels like the moment in the coffeeshop and yet entirely different. Steven almost expects a lecture, but then the corner of Adam’s mouth twitches into an almost-grin. “See you, Steven.”

Adam shows himself out and Steven stays in the kitchen until the coffee pot chimes to tell him it’s ready. Steven leaves it sitting there and moves to his bedroom, instead. He clambers onto his bed, mindful of his tender ankle, and sets the folder in front of him. He takes a few minutes to breathe before finding the courage to flip it open.

He’s met with handwriting he doesn’t recognize, on crisp, plain stationary. _Untraceable_ , he thinks. He picks up the page and runs his fingers along the edges. He traces his name written across the top in an unfamiliar scrawl. Without taking in the words, he skims the page, runs down the grain with his fingertip until he hits an elegantly messy signature at the bottom.

Sighing and steeling himself, Steven shakes off his nerves. He forces his hand to stop shaking, holds the paper close, and starts to read.

 

 

_**every face along the boulevard is a dreamer just like you** _

Steven thinks he’s seeing things, at first. It certainly wouldn’t be the weirdest thing to happen to him, now would it? He finds all manner of things to blame it on: lack of sleep, the heat, new glasses that don’t fit quite right. But eventually, he has to admit that what he’s seeing is very real.

Flashes of flaxen blond hair in the distance, scruffy beards with sharktooth smiles, a deep burst of laughter carried through a crowd. It keeps happening, over and over again, until Steven can’t take it any longer.

 

Hands shoved deep in his pockets, Steven takes a sharp turn down a less crowded street. It’s getting late, though the sun still hangs bright overhead. The buzz of the busy streets fades but the heavy footfalls that have been following him for the past four blocks don’t. Steven bristles as he takes yet another quick turn, but the footsteps only seem to get closer.

Once they’re a decently far from any main streets, Steven slows down marginally. He keeps his pace casual, easy, nothing out of the ordinary. The person behind him slows down too, and Steven sighs to himself.

He stops abruptly, and it takes a fraction of a second too long for the other man to react. Steven might’ve been out of the business for over a year now counting his time off for recover, but his reflexes are still pretty good. He twists in just the right way to slide around to the other man’s side. He uses the momentum to slam him into the wall, braces his arm against the man’s neck and uses his free hand to search the man for any weapons.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” the other says with a grin, until Steven pins him with an unamused glare. “Steven, _Steven_ , it’s me.”

“I know.” Steven grits out. Satisfied that Andrew isn’t carrying any weapons, he leans back. He leaves his arm against Andrew’s throat just to err on the side of caution. “Why are you following me?”

Andrew shoots him a baffled look. “Why am I following you? Didn’t—Didn’t Adam give you the folder?”

Steven nods. “He did.”

Andrew holds out his hands as if to say, _“see?”_

“That was months ago.” Steven tries and fails to keep the hurt out of his voice. “You never showed.”

“I had some loose ends to tie up,” Andrew says.

It’s so cliche, Steven actually laughs. He shakes his head and finally lets his arm fall. “So, what? Now you’re here?” His hands clench at his sides as anger, untouched for so long, bubbles up inside him. “Radio silence for _months_ , and now you decided to stalk me? Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

Andrew has the gall to smirk. “I knew you’d notice. It was more fun.”

Steven groans and steps away from Andrew. “It’s not _fun_.” His voice cracks, and his eyes water, and suddenly Andrew is back in his orbit, too close, too fast. “Get _off_ ,” Steven snaps. He tries to fight off Andrew’s hold to no avail. Andrew’s hands move slowly and carefully until he’s hugging Steven to his chest.

Steven’s taller than Andrew but he feels small and protected in Andrew’s arms. Part of him hates the feeling, but a much larger, more vocal part of him is finally _happy_ again.

“I missed you so much, you asshole.”

Andrew huffs a laugh, and Steven’s gratified to hear the tears in the other man’s tone. “I missed you too, Steven. I’m sorry.”

Steven hides his face against Andrew’s neck and shakes. He thinks about how much his recovery hurt, physically and emotionally; he thinks of how alone he felt, and how much he despised Andrew for being the cause of it all. He thinks of all the sad, pitying looks and how, when nothing came after the folder, Steven had convinced himself to give up hope.

“I’m sorry,” Andrew says. His voice is gentle in Steven’s ear. “I’m so sorry.”

Steven clings to him. There’s still so much to talk about—are they really safe? Is Andrew really out of the game? Can they really make this work? Steven doesn’t care about any of those things in this moment. He cares about the way his heart is pounding and how he can finally breathe, for the first time in far too long.

“I hate you,” he says wetly. He pulls back far enough to glare at Andrew, however ineffective it may be, before finally giving into the urge to kiss him.

Andrew makes a noise of surprise, but immediately responds. His lips move against Steven’s and his tongue slips into his mouth fluidly. It’s muscle memory, perfected if somewhat rusty with disuse. Steven winds his shaking arms around Andrew’s shoulders and presses closer, and Andrew answers in kind. His hand fit to Steven’s hips and hold him tight.

Steven doesn’t know how long they stand on the empty sidewalk kissing; he only knows that when they pull back, his lips sting just like he remembers, and Andrew looks even more handsome when their lives or jobs aren’t at stake.

Andrew opens his mouth again, but Steven shakes his head. He leans in and presses his forehead to Andrew’s, lets their noses brush sweetly.

“You’re really here?” Steven asks breathlessly.

Andrew nods. “I’m here.”

Steven grins as he relishes their closeness; he doesn’t move, even as a thought hits him.

 _Adam is_ never _gonna let me hear the end of this._

**Author's Note:**

> stay tuned, bc i've got more fics planned for this fandom (i've lost control of my life)
> 
>  **edited to add:** i'm taking prompts, check me out on [tumblr](http://punk-rock-yuppie.tumblr.com/post/175972711561/taking-requests)!


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